


Haunt You Down

by IrishCreamTruffle



Series: Love is Stronger than Witchcraft [4]
Category: NXT, WWE, World Wrestling Entertainment, wrestling - Fandom
Genre: Becky Lynch - Freeform, F/F, Femslash, Sasha Banks - Freeform, Sasha Banks/Becky Lynch - Freeform, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 07:52:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6462013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrishCreamTruffle/pseuds/IrishCreamTruffle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sasha's good at bypassing hotel security but not as great with card analogies. Becky doesn't seem to mind. </p>
<p>SLASH. Becky Lynch/Sasha Banks (SAKEY). Part IV in the "Love is Stronger than Witchcraft" series. </p>
<p>Warning-SMUT.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haunt You Down

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I unfortunately don’t own any wrestlers, including these two muses. I’m not making any money off this. If I were, I wouldn’t have to go to work tomorrow. This didn’t happen, but we can all dream that it will one day. 
> 
> WARNING: Do you know that it’s been over 2 years since I’ve written smut? Isn’t that so out of character? SLASH. SMUT. My first shot it with ladies. Fingers crossed! 
> 
> Notes: Direct follow up to Rose Blood and Part IV of the “Love is Stronger than Witchcraft” series. Thank you to everyone for the support on this series! It’s been a new venture for me, and all the kind feedback has been so encouraging. I’ve seen some more Becky/Sasha coming out of the woodwork, which just makes my shipper heart so happy. I’m also very happy that I finished this in time to celebrate the new women’s championship! There’s nothing that I hated more than that diva’s butterfly catastrophe. 
> 
> Now— Ultimate Feelz Playlist! 
> 
> Lots of the goodies from Elevate Me Later and Rose Blood except for some very important new additions! I don’t know how I wrote so much Femslash sans the sonic sex that is Hope Sandoval, but I’ve corrected the fatal error. 
> 
> Mazzy Star: “Does Someone Have Your Baby Now?” “Happy,” “Rose Blood”
> 
> Hope Sandoval & The Warm Inventions: “Trouble,” “On the Low”
> 
> Frank Black and the Catholics: “Nadine”
> 
> Black Rebel Motorcycle Club: “Aya,””Head up High,” “Bad Blood,” “War Machine,” “Evol” 
> 
> The Black Angles: “Doves,” “Mission District”
> 
> Built to Spill: “Else,” “Don’t Try,” “You Are”
> 
> Mark Lanegan and PJ Harvey: “Hit the City”
> 
> Afghan Whigs: “Parked Outside”
> 
> Depeche Mode: “I Feel You”
> 
> My Jerusalem: “Born in the Belly,” “Shatter Together”

Hotel security protocol is sorely lacking.

She’s standing outside of Becky’s room and it hardly took any conning to get here.

She knocks twice. The door opens only enough so that Becky can lean outside. She looks over Sasha’s shoulders in either direction and then directly at Sasha, regards her with genuinely good humor that’s out of place given the night’s events. “I think you’re short a lass or two.”

Sasha snorts. She’s not sorry.

Becky’s hips are exposed and Sasha can see the dark blue formation already.

Sasha indulges and traces the outline of the bruise with one finger, offering “this looks familiar,” and a smile before nudging into Becky, pushing the door open enough for both of them and slipping into the soft light of the room.

Becky chuckles softly. “It should.”

Becky closes the door behind them and makes her way to sit on the bottom end of the bed. She leans back a little, rests her weight on the edge of either palm.

Becky’s wearing a sports bra. Night shorts too—they rest on her hips at just about the same place as the shorts from her ring gear.

“So,” Becky extends, a brief, easy smile following, “how can I help you?”

Sasha shrugs, slips a finger into the bow tying her jacket together. “I didn’t plan it like that. So you know.”

Becky meets it with a shrug of her own. “Maybe you didn’t. Maybe you did. All’s fair.”

It’s a little mind blowing, really.

That this isn’t tense. There’s no threat of anger, of violence, of betrayal lying in wait.

There never really has been. Even since their split in NXT, despite the harshness of the words and blows exchanged, their rivalry never truly carried the heat of hatred. Maybe because they went into it clear that the end wasn’t so far ahead into the future.

The affection that had developed in the meantime had been pure oversight, admittedly on both of their parts.

Becky raises an eyebrow at her, and it must mean that Sasha’s been floating in her thoughts for longer than intended.

Sasha pulls one strap of her coat’s bow loose. “If it was my plan, you’d know it.”

Becky’s gaze remains lucid on her, some remnant of a smile warming her face. “Noted.”

Whatever else is going through Becky’s mind is guess work. Becky has a way of playing her cards close to her chest. Whether side by side or nose to nose, Sasha’s never been able to shake the sense that Becky’s not giving it all. Not when basking in the glory of her favorite puns, not after enduring and providing beatings, not when her eyes shine bright with determination and frustration. The quietest part of Sasha’s brain picks up on the scent of Becky holding an ace or two or three that she hasn’t decided to play yet.

“That all?”

It’s as good as any place for Becky to interrupt Sasha’s train of thought. She’d gone a little overboard with the card analogy anyways.

Sasha snickers, “not by a long shot,” and draws the other strap from around her waist, lets the jacket slip over and down her shoulders.

As it falls to the floor, Becky’s eyes light up and her jaw slackens and it’s _so_ encouraging.

Sasha may have neglected to wear anything other than lingerie.

Becky sits up a little straighter, finger dipping to catch the scalloped lace edge of Sasha’s panties once she’s close enough, following the movement through to beckon Sasha into her lap.

Sasha squares, uses her knees to tighten around the thighs that she’s been thinking about all night, frees up her hands just so that she can tangle them back into the never-ending layers of Becky’s hair, can pull Becky’s face close to hers.

She doesn’t kiss her, just holds Becky there so she can share her breath and watch her eyelashes go heavy over her eyes again.

Sasha would be a liar if she said that she hadn’t expected Becky’s responsiveness, but what she is surprised by is Becky’s _level_ of responsiveness, fingers worshipping teases along the lace lining the underside of her breast.

Sasha hums a low laugh that’s less humor and more pleasure, argues half-heartedly, “You’ve seen me in less.”

“Mmm,” Becky purrs, brushes her nose to Sasha’s in aphrodisia, “’s different. Black lace makes everything different.” Becky’s fingers play a little further under the lower lining of the bra. “Game changer.”

Sasha wonders if her face looks as warm as it feels when she extricates her fingers from Becky’s hair in favor of smoothing it back over her shoulders.

“This doesn’t change anything,” and even to Sasha’s own ears, it sounds more like a caress and less like a warning.

“Mmmm, it doesn’t,” Becky agrees, and it makes Sasha’s skin hot, the way Becky keeps answering her in vibrations.

Becky’s fingers come out from under where they’ve been tucked, the palms of her hands smoothing confident and firm up Sasha’s back. “How ‘bout this is just… separate?”

Just separate.

It’s a good suggestion. Simple. Sasha wishes that one of them had thought of it earlier.

Sasha hovers taller than Becky from where she’s seated, has Becky’s head tilted back and up. Becky’s still wearing her false lashes. They’re over-the-top and ridiculous and they practically brush against her eyebrows, and—fuck—it’s stupidly hot.

“Separate,” Sasha echoes, eyes falling to Becky’s lips. “Yeah… separate’s good.”

It’s definitely not nerves rumbling low in her belly as she comes downward and Becky leans upward for the first time since Brooklyn.

They meet exactly where they should. Becky’s mouth is wetter and hotter than she remembers and the urge to press her hips down into Becky’s is stronger than she cares to resist. The repressed little gasp that it elicits from Becky, the responding dig of Becky’s fingers into her hips urging her further downward, is everything that she wants, rushes scalding through her veins.

Becky’s hand comes steady on the back of Sasha’s neck, the fingers of her other hand wisping over Sasha’s ribs and further up over her bra, dragging the blunt edge of a thumbnail over her nipple with calculated pressure that sparks up the full length of her spine and makes her breath come strained against Becky’s mouth.

Becky’s palm against the nape of her neck goes firmer. Sasha’s back arches and her hips go in tighter in an obedience that she never approved, but then Becky’s mouth is gone and there’s just unwelcome oxygen and cold. She’s trying to process this when hot and wet suctions on to her collarbone, the flat of her tongue, both soft and rough, chases the shiver up the tendon of her neck and over the ridge of her jaw, settles at the tenderness behind her earlobe.

“I almost don’t want to take this,” fingers demonstrate, brush under the lace straps on Sasha’s shoulders, “off.”

And good god, Becky sounds amazing like this, accent husking thickly around her voice, a live and breathing and tangible thing against Sasha’s pulse even as she’s stopped talking.

“What’s under ‘s better,” Sasha’s brought Becky’s mouth back to hers so she can coo into soft and warm and wet.

Arms constrict around her waist, Becky closer and flush, and there’s an impatient release of straps from around her back.

“’Said almost,” Becky’s teeth scrape the sharp, teasing correction against her lower lip.

Straps drag friction down the length of her arms, over her wrists, and then _off_. Becky’s rasp echoes amplified through her, burns synesthetic red in her bones and she’s boiling vehemently to be seated to the bottom knuckles of Becky’s two fingers.

Becky pulls away, and Sasha remembers that this is what breathing feels like. She realizes that it's overrated, is biased toward sucking in shallow gasps against Becky’s lips in the intermittent moments when their heads tilt the right way to allow it.

Sasha’s grateful that it always seems to come with a reconciliation prize—Becky’s hands coming strong to either side of her ribcage and persuading her upward, breathing a cool gust that precedes Becky’s tongue swiping against her nipple. It’s light, a warning touch—a test, an experimental judgment that makes Sasha’s breath come shallow in anticipation.

She’s expecting it but not ready for it when the tip of Becky’s tongue caresses the nub of her other nipple. She exhales through her nose, lets her fingers drift from underneath the veil of Becky’s hair to the roots at the nape of her neck.

With the upward press of her hands, Becky coaxes Sasha to sit up just a little higher, rubs her hands up firm to either breast, sucks strong and hot underneath, and Sasha didn’t realize that she was sensitive there but _she fucking does now_ , her own voice hungry in her ears as her head falls back. She pushes Becky in by the back of her head for _more_ even as the hand wound in the roots of Becky’s hair pull her the other way.

It earns her teeth and a squeeze just shy of painful, growled breath against her sternum. Sasha draws an inhalation that quivers. She shoves inward, wants closer even though closer’s already impossible.

Becky’s touch trails down her ribs and over her sides, finger pads followed by nails that don’t dig into her skin but graze to remind her that they _can_.

“Off,” Becky murmurs in the space between a wet suck and wicked curl of her tongue.

Sasha’s slow to realize that Becky’s begun working her panties down her hips, keeping track of Becky’s hands and mouth beyond an overwhelming task. Sasha wiggles to help them down the rest of the way, has to lean forward hard to make it work, and that means pushing Becky flat on her back so that Sasha can tower over her and that works out just perfect too.

Lying over Becky like this gives her a clarifying vantage point, lends her the perspective to realize that while this has been everything that she wants so far it’s also not even close to being what she wants. Becky’s skin glows soft in the light and her cheeks and chest and lips flare a pink that’s so fucking _pretty_ on her that Sasha forgets to breathe, but Becky is still fully dressed while Sasha’s completely naked and Sasha’s barely touched and tasted what she came here to touch and taste.

Her fingers aren’t steady when she works them underneath Becky’s bra and it startles her. She inhales sharply, presses her fingers to either breast. They fit in her palms like they were meant to be there and Becky’s hips kip up against hers encouragingly and Sasha licks her lips because she can feel her mouth going dry. She indulges for a moment, lets her hands stay trapped between Becky’s breasts and the restraining material of her sports bra just until they stop shaking.

When they do, Becky’s arms are already up so Sasha can tear the bra off, can confirm that her breasts look as perfect in her hands as they feel. Sasha grunts a sound that she hasn’t heard come from herself before, swoops in so she can drag her tongue up the column of Becky’s throat, can feel the breathless sound travel all the way up before it releases and fills the room and makes Sasha drunk in response.

Sasha trails her mouth up over salty skin, keeps going until she comes back to wet and soft, swallows down the last remnant of the sound to hold to herself. Becky’s arms come around her, a recognizable constant that she _really likes_ , and she thinks she feels “up” panted against her lips before Becky’s shifting upward and Sasha’s following willingly until they’re resting more squarely on the bed.

Sasha grinds her hips back down against Becky’s again, breathless as Becky’s hips rock up to the pressure, but disappointed when she feels soft cotton press cool against her instead of mirrored hot and slick.

“Up,” Sasha hears again, clearer and firmer before she thrusts her tongue into Becky’s mouth, gets her fingers underneath the waist band of Becky’s shorts.

Sasha’s brows furrow and she takes advantage of her leverage, pushes her mouth into Becky’s harder, answers once the tilt of her head allows her to use her voice, “’m up. ’m up as it gets,” before pressing her mouth back to Becky’s again.

Becky’s mouth pulls away from hers in what feels like a _tear_ , Becky’s voice a choked expulsion of air, “mmm-no,” and her hands come up to the smallest part of Sasha’s waist, pull and urge her up until she follows the momentum on her knees, keeps following until each knee rests over either side of Becky’s head.

Oh.

“Oh,” Sasha’s exhales. It takes Sasha a minute to realize that such a timid sound came out of her. She laughs sheepishly, “You meant _all the way_ up.”

Becky’s eyelashes fall against her cheek bones in a thick black fringe, pop back up against the elegant curve of her eyebrows, frame the gentle almond shape of her eyes, glittering up dark and satisfied and amused at her.

“I meant all the way up,” Becky murmurs, affirmation vibrating straight to Sasha’s core. The breath that Sasha was going to breathe gets trapped in her stomach, swells inside her hot and wet and hard everywhere.

“You want it like this?” Sasha manages, swallows the lump that’s grown large and constrictive in her throat.

“Mmmm,” Becky hums. Sasha shivers and holds her breath, feels it loud all over her skin. Becky’s hands follow the shiver, smooth and hot over her stomach, “view’s amazing.”

Then no more words, just Becky’s head leaning up to close the space and then tongue slick and twirling and— _oh my god_.

Loud noise. Really loud noise.

Hers, she realizes too late as one of Becky’s hands darts up, moves toward her mouth to muffle her. Sasha swats the hand away, irritated, because for all of the control this position should give her, she realizes that she has absolutely none of it.

She’s muttering, “I got it, I got it, I got it…” as Becky’s hand lowers back down to caress her hips.

She gets it. They don’t know who’s in the next room and the less anyone could possibly know the better, so she sinks her teeth deep into her lower lip to stop the same mistake from happening again.

Becky’s lips join her tongue, undulate against her in leisurely waves, and Sasha has to grip on to the headboard with both hands until her knuckles push painfully against the skin of her hands.

She looks down at Becky, which is both a terrible and wonderful idea, watching her eyes blissed out and _knowing_ , pink tongue peeking out from between where her even pinker lips are sealed every time she moves just so. It drags Sasha violently and suddenly closer to unraveling in the blink of an eye.

This position gives her a lot of power, power that can lead to an embarrassingly quick downfall, but she can’t help but use just a little bit of it, rock her hips down and press harder against the warmth—warmth grown hot, so hot that it makes her sweat even though she’s not _doing anything_. Becky’s gloriously receptive, pushes up to meet her, comes in with gentle sucks following focused sweeps of her tongue that make Sasha's eyes roll back.

Sasha eases back for her own good, inhales through her nose to regain whatever composure she can grasp. Becky lowers her head back to the pillow.

The funny thing is that Becky really isn’t even trying to make her cum. Sasha can tell this. Becky’s playing around at the pace of her own enjoyment, experimenting with all the different textures of her mouth, and she can practically see Becky running catalogues of how hard she can make Sasha bite her lip when she swipes her clit with the rough front of her tongue versus twisting against it with the slippery hot underside.

It pisses her off—pisses her off that Becky doesn’t have to try _harder_ at this. It pisses her off that it doesn’t matter that it pisses her off, because Becky’s mouth is like fucking witchcraft, and Sasha can feel her thighs beginning to tremble, can feel moans pushing out of her throat even as she bites into her lower lip harder to make them _stop_. She wonders how hard she can sink her teeth in before she’s forced to find an excuse for how she split her lip.

And Becky _knows_. Of course Becky knows. The fingers of one hand curl at her hip bone, press their encouragement. The fingers of her other hands come to Sasha’s mouth, pads caressing until they convince Sasha to stop biting into her own lip. Sasha inhales and Becky’s opportunistic as ever, pushes four fingers past Sasha’s lips, slides her fingers against Sasha’s tongue, moans something that vibrates all the way into Sasha’s lungs.

Becky’s mouth goes wider and more encompassing around her, tongue moving in quick flicks within hot suction, and Sasha bites down hard onto Becky’s fingers, moans muffled into them as her hips twitch roughly on their own accord and she cums, explosions in every nerve, seizing contractions onto emptiness until she feels the relieving push of two fingers deep into her, grips on to them as they as they curl, both stealing her air and coaxing her down until she can finally open her eyes without seeing stars dance in front of her vision.

The fingers leave her body just around the time Becky slips the fingers of her other hand from between Sasha’s lips.

Sasha sees red on repeat: strained skin around Becky’s fingers where Sasha’s teeth marks set deep, lips worked slick and shining, neck flushed straight up to her ears. It makes something scratch starved inside her belly, makes her burn radioactive inside all over again, persuades her to work her way back down on rubbery arms and legs.

She gets her mouth on Becky’s neck, can practically taste her blood surge up close under her skin, groans at it rushing against her tongue. Her fingers find Becky’s hips of their own accord, and— _fuck_ —they feel as good as they look.

She mouths hot and eager down Becky’s center, teeth catching in her excitement, all the way down to the waist band of Becky’s shorts. She grabs the band between her teeth, frustrated that the shorts are still there in the first place, tugs and lets it snap at Becky’s skin. The choked plea of a gasp from Becky is better than anything she’s ever fantasized about.

It’s as she’s ripping Becky’s shorts off her hips that she wishes she had the patience to tease Becky, to torture and spoil her with all the different parts of her mouth and hands, but she looks so good and she smells so good and her skin’s like fucking silk and it’s burning like fire and her breath’s shallow with anticipation and that’s just _not_ going to happen.

She settles on her belly, shoulders Becky’s thighs so that the length of her legs drape over her back. Becky’s feet cross at the ankles, inner thighs warm and secluding around her head and Sasha couldn’t ask for anything better.

She braces itching fingers at the junction of Becky’s hips and thighs, where she’s soft and hard in all of the right places.

She may not have the resolve to induce Becky into a smoldering oblivion, but she can make her squirm and gasp and cry out and that will do just as well.

She dips in with a bold swipe of her tongue and Becky’s _soaked_ already and Sasha feels herself get turned on all over again. She pushes in closer, sets her pace relentlessly with the pressure of her lips, remorseless strokes of her tongue that keep sliding off course because Becky’s so slippery, but Becky’s quivering gulps for breath and convulsing muscles twitching under her fingers tells her that it’s just fine.

She pushes in with her chin, creates a constant pressure with wet inner seam of her lips that make Becky’s hips jolt up and dig the heels of her feet into Sasha’s back, makes her wheeze Sasha’s name in a way that’s going to be ringing inside her head for months.

Sasha’s hands slip down Becky’s legs, fingers digging and pressing a rough massage into the soft inside of her thighs. Becky breathes out roughly and choked, and it’s hard to stay deliberate; it drugs Sasha into using a chaotic flurry and anything that will keep Becky sounding like _that_.

The harder she squeezes Becky’s thighs the more Becky writhes and _goddamn_ —Sasha likes that Becky likes that so much.

Becky’s undoing comes when Sasha wields the tip of her tongue against her, pressed vibrations that makes Becky swell and pulse dripping against her, a strangled “Sash—“ dying in her throat and echoing in the room as she makes a fucking _mess_ that’s so satisfying.

Sasha shifts and Becky’s legs slip off her shoulders, fall on the bed and tremble with aftershocks on either side of Sasha.

Now that her head’s not buzzing, she can take the time to press doting kisses to the inside of her thighs, taste the salt that’s trailed onto her lips, smile against her skin as she listens to Becky try to calm her labored breathing.

Sasha doesn’t know exactly how long this goes on for, just knows that she’s moved reverent kisses to the bruise shadowing Becky’s hipbone by the time Becky’s hand is in her hair, stroking shapeless patterns at her damp roots.

Her scalp is tingling and she’s resting the side of her face on Becky’s stomach, heavy with drowsiness when she hears Becky mumble, “shower?”

She nuzzles into Becky’s hip sleepily and sighs deeply. Her skin feels sticky and cold in the over-regulated temperature of the room.

Yeah. Shower’s good.


End file.
